Authors: J.T. Ellison
“Oh, bullshit, Taylor. You’ve been dragging around enough guilt for ten men. You have more in common with Baldwin than you think.”
“Sam, knock it off, okay? I don’t have time to get into someone else’s nightmares right now. We’ve got a nasty killer out there that I’d like to catch. By the way, did you get any more info on the girls’ tox screens?”
“Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know. Simon said they’ll be back to me tonight. I’ll call you as soon as I have them. And no, I won’t knock it off. It’s time you got back to your life. It wasn’t your fault you had to shoot Martin. He attacked you, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like you were in love with the guy—”
“That’s enough!” Taylor was flushed and angry. She didn’t have time to rehash her own nightmares either, and she didn’t like it when Sam preached at her. She rose and put on her coat.
“I’m going home. Call me if you hear anything.”
Sam’s phone rang. She held up a finger. “Hold on. Let me get this first.” She put the phone to her ear. “Sam Owens...Yeah... Mmm-hmm...You’re kidding...Really? That’s great, thanks so much. I’ll call you back in the morning.”
Taylor had her arms crossed on her chest, breathing heavily through her nose. “What is it?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You may change your tune about talking with Dr. Baldwin when you hear this.”
27
“Garrett, I’m out. These Nashville people don’t need me—they know what they’re doing. Please, just...don’t call me again.”
Baldwin hung up on his former boss’s voice mail. He threw the phone toward the couch, where it bounced off and lay prone on the floor. He’d been fuming around his house for the past hour. He was as pissed at himself as he was at the damn homicide team. He knew Fitz had been baiting him, trying to see if he could be taken seriously. He’d shown them, with no questions, he couldn’t. He was even more furious with himself that he gave a crap.
He reached for another beer and started to gulp. He finished in record time, even for him, the now-professional drinker. He stared at the bottle, willing it to fill itself so he could just drown in it. It didn’t. He threw it across the room, satisfied when it shattered against the wall.
He felt the familiar calm sweep over him. He luxuriated in it. This wasn’t drunkenness; it was the finishing point. He’d felt it before, and knew what he needed to do.
He went back to the bedroom. His gun was on the nightstand, right where he’d left it. He picked it up, caressing the steel. Having it in his hand made him feel better, calmer. He’d made this decision before, when he started the game. He’d always given fate a little room for chance. Now he was acting on sheer, reckless bravado. He would no longer allow himself to be steered off course.
He walked with purpose back to the living room. He tidied up a bit, but left the broken shards where they were. Looking at them helped his tranquility; knowing he might be scattered carelessly over the wall above them gave him comfort.
Baldwin sat in his favorite chair, and didn’t waste any time. Tonight would be different; he could just feel it. He checked the speed loader to make sure the bullet was in place, leaned back, and gave the cylinder a vicious spin.
Put the gun to his head.
Pulled the trigger at the very same moment someone started knocking on his door. The noise startled him, and the gun jerked. A bullet flew out of the two-inch barrel of the Smith and Wesson at full velocity, grazing his cheek. He heard shouting and thought he recognized the voice. God, was that Taylor Jackson? What in the hell was she doing here?
His door crashed open, and the homicide lieutenant flew into the room with her weapon drawn, looking around wildly.
Baldwin drew down on her purely by instinct. A worthless move on his part, considering the solitary Winchester .38 bullet that had lived in his gun for the past few weeks was now lodged in the wall of his living room. They faced each other, guns sighted point-blank between the other’s eyes.
Taylor was the first to flinch. She slowly holstered her weapon, never letting her gaze stray from Baldwin’s face.
“Why don’t you put the gun down, Baldwin?” she said softly. “I’m not here to shoot you. Or to get shot. Come on, put it away. Christ, you’re bleeding.” She started toward him, still mindful of the gun trained at her head.
Baldwin started laughing. Taylor was caught short, then smiled cautiously. He lowered the weapon, and she quickly took it from his hand and tossed it into the kitchen. He was doubled over by now, hysterical with laughter.
“Baldwin, I think we need to get you to a hospital. You’re bleeding badly.”
He hiccuped, still snorting with mirth. “No, Taylor. No hospital. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?” He was calming down, but still held his sides as if he would explode.
“I wanted your opinion on something. And I wanted to apologize. We treated you badly today, and I’m sorry.” Her gaze took in the room, noting the disarray, the broken bottle, the phone lying askew on the floor. Her eyes trailed to his face. “Really, Baldwin, you’re bleeding. Let me fix it up for you.”
“Leave it.” His voice was sharp, and Taylor froze four feet from him. He turned toward the kitchen, then spun back and landed awkwardly on the couch. Taylor could see exhaustion shadow his face. She dared a step, and another, then sat quietly in the chair, looking at the fireplace while he composed himself. Damn, she had barely gotten here in time. Maybe she hadn’t been in time at all; she didn’t think a quick chat was going to change the man’s mind. She decided to try anyway.
“You wanna tell me why I saw you through the window with a gun to your head?”
Baldwin shook his head, smiling at her. “Seems I just can’t win. I’ve been working this little project for a while now, and I keep getting interrupted.” He leaned back into the couch, covering his eyes with his crossed arms. “Every time I’m all set and ready, the fucking phone rings, or someone knocks. Really, Taylor, it would have been better if you’d come five minutes later. You’d have assumed I wasn’t home, and seeing as the shot went off this time, I’d be out of this hell.”
This
time. Oh boy. She knew she’d have a job in front of her with Baldwin, just didn’t realize it would entail dragging him out of the jaws of Cerberus. She was shocked to see tears roll down his face.
“I’m kinda glad I showed up when I did. You’d have been a hell of a mess to clean up.” Her tone was light, but the look she gave him wasn’t.
“Well, thanks, I guess.” He gave her the first genuine smile she’d seen since she met him that morning. God, it had only been a day, but she felt as if he’d been under her skin forever. She let out her breath, suddenly aware that she had been holding it.
She gave him a small smile back. “Seriously, let me clean you up a little bit.”
He brushed a big hand across his face, clearly embarrassed. “No, let it be. I’m fine. I want to know why you really came over here.”
He was staring at her so intently that she felt a shiver run down her spine. “To be honest, Sam had some news at dinner I thought you might be interested in. Some results came back from the tests on Shelby Kincaid and Jordan Blake.”
Baldwin looked at her with doubt. “And why do you think I’d be interested in any of it? I quit tonight, remember?”
“You can’t quit something you never started.” She was surprised at how bitter she sounded. Not exactly the tone to be taking with someone who looked as though he had been prepared to kill himself a half hour prior. “I mean...”
Baldwin’s face had hardened. “I know what you mean, Taylor. You’re right. I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to work this case, and I certainly don’t intend to start now. Why don’t you take your do-gooding ass out of here?” He got up quickly and headed for the bedroom.
Taylor didn’t hesitate, ran after him, heart pounding. If he had a second weapon in there and was intent on finishing the job...
But Baldwin had only gone in the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She let out a breath. Good. If he was going to tend his wound, he wouldn’t be trying to shoot himself at the same time.
“Baldwin, I...”
“I thought I told you to leave,” he said, not turning from the mirror, where he was gingerly dabbing alcohol on his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed.
“Come on, man, let me do that.” Taylor pushed her way into the bathroom and grabbed the cotton before he could resist. She felt all the fight go out of him as he slumped against the counter. He didn’t resist when she finished cleaning the cut, pulled out a bandage, and gingerly placed it over the wound. On impulse, without thinking, she reached in and kissed it.
Baldwin jumped and grabbed her wrists. “What did you do that for?”
Taylor was at a loss for words. She mumbled something and backed away. He let her go.
Baldwin turned and stared in the mirror. He shook his head, snapped off the light, and followed Taylor’s trail. He could hear her in the kitchen, messing with ice. He sat on the couch and said nothing.
She came out of the kitchen with an improvised ice pack. She handed it to him with a shrug. He took it and set it carefully on his face. The cut was starting to throb. Taylor stood with her arms crossed, looking at him as if he were a ticking bomb that would go off at any moment. He met her eyes and gave her a weak smile.
“There’s Advil in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. Will you get me four?”
Taylor nodded. She needed to get out from under that gaze. She took her time finding the pills. She didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but as long as it kept the gun out of his hand, she’d keep doing it. She spied the revolver under the kitchen table. Picking it up gingerly, she checked the chambers, found them empty, and stuffed the gun in the back of her jeans.
Baldwin’s eyes were closed when she came back in the room. She thought maybe he’d gone to sleep, but jumped when his deep voice softly rumbled, “Thanks.”
“Sure.” She got the feeling he was thanking her for more than the painkiller. She handed them to him and backed away again, stationing herself against the mantel of the fireplace.
“You can’t understand,” he said. “You’ve never been in a place like this. A place with no hope.”
“Yes, I have.”
Baldwin’s eyes shot open, and he saw her staring at the marble inlay at the base of the hearth. He felt the sadness radiate from her. He started to ask, stopped himself. He didn’t like to talk about his demons; he couldn’t imagine she would either. He was surprised when she answered the unspoken question.
“I shot a fellow detective a few months ago. Killed him. Let’s leave it at that for now, okay? So yeah, I’ve been there. It’s not a nice place to be. Besides, I don’t think talking about
my
problems will help you right now.”
Baldwin was intrigued, but didn’t push it. His natural inclination was to fall back onto his training and try to draw her out, but he laughed instead.
“Sure thing. Neutral ground then. What was so important to bring you over here at midnight to interrupt all my grand plans?”
Taylor was suddenly serious, all business. A spark flashed in her eyes, and she grinned.
“Aconite.”
28
Baldwin sat up in surprise, wincing as the ice pack smacked hard against his cheek. He leaned back slowly. “Aconite? They were poisoned with aconite?”
Taylor was happy to see she’d captured his interest, the investigator in him coming to life. At least for the time being.
“Yep. Sam noticed that the panels for both girls showed a high level of alkaloids in both the kidneys and liver. She had her buddy test for poisons, and aconite showed up in lethal doses. Some way to go, huh?”
“What exactly does aconite do to the system?”
“That’s the bad part. According to Sam’s crash course, it’s a central nervous system depressant. Vomiting, flushing, blurred vision, dry mouth, lowered body temperature. Severe burning sensation in the mouth—tongue, lips, and throat. Also causes paralysis and intense pain. Could have taken up to six hours to die. It’s not a pleasant death.
“Sam also confirmed Jordan had the same herbs scattered on her body as Shelby and got an ID on them. It’s a real mishmash.” Taylor pulled her notebook out of her coat pocket.
Baldwin realized she still wore her suede coat, and figured she must be getting hot. “Take off your coat and stay awhile?”
“Ha.” She hesitated a moment, then shrugged out of the coat, tossed it on the back of the chair, and sat down, reading off the list.
“Rosemary, sage, sandalwood, basil, pennyroyal, bay, white sage, anise, chamomile, clove, fennel, and lavender. All can be grown in the garden, or bought in a million places.”
“And the aconite? Can it be grown or bought?”
“Both. Sam had one of her guys pull it up on the internet. There are a billion websites that sell it, and it can be grown in someone’s backyard.”
“So perhaps we’re dealing with a gardener of some sort.”
“Sam also found that there are specific uses for all of these herbs. The Wicca websites give a lot of information on what to use when, for ceremonies, celebrations, holidays, burials.” Taylor used the last word lightly.
Baldwin raised an eyebrow. “Wiccan burial rites, huh? Or it could be some kind of cult. Herbs and poisons. Think finding the girl at the Parthenon has anything to do with this?”
“Oh yeah, definitely. We’re going to have to do some in-depth research on the uses of the poison, see if there’s anything that ties it to the locale. I don’t know what the relationship is, but it’s too kooky not to be a part of the pattern.”
“And Jordan had the poison in her system, too?”
“Yes. Her COD was the stab wounds to her heart, but she’d ingested the aconite prior to the kill shot.”
“Maybe it didn’t work quickly enough and he stabbed her to finish her off?”
“Could be.”
“So where do you go from here?”
Taylor eyed him coolly. “I don’t know, Baldwin. That’s why I came over here tonight. I thought maybe you’d seen this kind of stuff before, because I sure haven’t. Thought maybe you’d like to help us find out what it all means. Help us find this asshole before he kills another girl.”